Raspberry Sauce
by OmniHelix
Summary: Rachel's TV Series tanks, and she is unable to find work afterwards. She ends up back in Lima, coaching the Glee club. Until an unlikely person comes to her with an interesting offer.


**A/N: A little oneshot in response to speculation that Rachel ends up in Lima coaching/teaching Glee Club. I do not own Glee or any of its characters. And no, despite what it looks like, this is definitely NOT a St Berry fic. **

She was right where her dads told him she would be: under the shade of the fine young oak, at the top of a grassy rise. He came upon her from behind. The air was warm, dense, the familiar high summer in Ohio. A red-and-white checkered cloth was laid out alongside the grave, and Rachel sat upon it, crossed-legged and barefoot, dressed in a simple, lightweight cotton dress. He was shocked to see how short her hair was cut, and how thin she looked. She was reading aloud from a book on her lap, one elbow resting on a wicker picnic basket:

_**My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.—My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don't talk of our separation again: it is impracticable; and—' **_

She must have sensed his presence, because she stopped reading and whipped her head around. Her eyes narrowed.

"What are _you_ doing here?" The outrage in her voice took him aback for a moment. Her dark eyes, angry and haunted, flashed under that strange pixie haircut. "Well?" She stood up, letting the book drop to the cloth, hands on her hips.

"I just—I mean—" he stammered, "Your dads said I could find you here."

"And you thought it would be okay to just barge in on an obviously very private moment? What's wrong with you, Jesse?"

What _was_ wrong with him? What made him think this would go well?

"I'm sorry, Rachel" he said, hands open to her. "You're right. It was pretty thoughtless of me." He turned to go. And as he began wondering how he was going to get to talk to her about why he came to Lima in the first place, he felt her hand on his arm.

"Wait." He turned back. She stood, looking frail and unhappy, eyes no longer angry, but softer and wider, in apology.

"Forgive me," she said. "You caught me off-guard. I overreacted. I'm sorry."

"That's okay." Rachel beckoned him to sit with her on the picnic cloth.

"Please, sit down." He sat.

Beyond the cemetery, the rich cornfields west of Lima lay before them, shimmering in the heat.

"It's so beautiful here, at sunset," she said. "But I like coming here at lunchtime, too. Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes, please."

She reached into the picnic basket and brought out two clear plastic cups and a small thermos, pouring what looked like lemonade for both of them. It tasted cool and tart.

"It's been a long time, Jesse." She sipped.

"Indeed."

"Thank you again for your letter. It was very kind."

He had sent her a sincere, handwritten letter of condolence from California when he found out Finn had passed away; she replied with a thank you card. That was the last exchange between them. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I know how much you loved him."

Rachel just nodded, glancing at Finn's headstone.

"Why are you here?"

"I heard things hadn't worked out in LA, and that you had come back to Lima. That you were teaching singing lessons and help coach Will Schuester's resurrected Glee Club." Her sad nod broke his heart. "What happened out there, if you don't mind my asking?"

"A month into _Funny Girl_, a producer at Fox offered me a development deal for a pilot, a series based around me. He called me a 'once in a generation' talent." The telling of it turned her voice almost a monotone, as if she were now numb. Jesse had never heard her like this. "You know how I am, Jesse-I jumped at the chance." She paused, as if almost in disbelief at what she was going to say next. "That one decision betrayed Sydney Greene, the _Funny Girl_ producer, and derailed any chance of my working on Broadway again in one ruinous stroke."

He gave Rachel a look of sympathy. A faint breeze from the west cooled the sweat on both their brows.

"Before the pilot was shot, they took my input into consideration. But once the go-ahead for the show went through, nobody was willing to listen to me, and the scripts became progressively more ridiculous. Relax, they said, these people know what they're doing." She gave a bitter laugh. "This show, supposedly about me, ended up presenting me as a shrill, empty-headed hipster, if you can imagine. The idiot executive producer sent me an email with a link to the Urban Dictionary, to study so that I could appear more 'real'." He winced.

Her head dropped. "The pilot, even with extensive advertising and a good slot, performed miserably in the ratings. The show lurched on for 4 more episodes, before being pulled."

"I'm sorry."

"And they blamed me. All of sudden, this once-in-a-generation talent became the ruthlessly ambitious but inexperienced starlet who left Broadway too soon."

"Damn…"

"Yeah. And you know what, Jesse? I should have seen it coming. That flaky bastard of a producer had done the same thing before with Paolo, my male lead in _Funny Girl_, and blamed the failure on him as well. He told me that when he came to see me in my dressing room, that first time. I should have heard the alarm bells then. You know how talented Paolo is, right? " Jesse nodded. " I spent almost a year looking for work in Hollywood. Nothing. I couldn't go back to Broadway—my flaky reputation and Sydney's influence guaranteed that. I also burnt my bridge to NYADA by pissing Carmen off when I quit." A small, grim smile. "I have a real talent for burning bridges, apparently. So, I read the handwriting on the wall, and came home to Lima." Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. "And Finn. This was the hardest, because I let him down, along with everyone that ever believed in me." She looked him in the eyes. "Including you."

"That's why I'm here," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

"When I was in San Francisco I had a great run in a small theater."

"Were you the male lead? " He liked how this seemed to raise her spirits and curiosity.

"No, nothing like that. I'm nowhere near as good as you." He winked, making her actually giggle. "But I did make friends with an actor whose dad produces plays in Chicago. He told me to try out for a locally-produced musical there, _Stand and Deliver, _about the infamous highwaywoman, Lady Katherine Ferrers, who took up highway robbery to help replenish her dwindling fortune."

"She what?"

"Her family backed the Royalists during the English Civil War in the 1600's, and when Cromwell came to power, much of her fortune was confiscated."

"Sounds _fantastic_," Rachel said. "Did you try out?"

"Yes, for the role of her husband, Sir Thomas Fanshawe. And I got it."

She clapped her hands, just like she always did, he thought, in what seemed like genuine good will.

"I also met the author, Jerome Blaylock, who wrote the music and libretto. He was born and raised in Chicago, even graduated from Northwestern, and wanted the play to begin its life in his hometown." He paused, then grinned. "He told me they were having problems casting the lead, because of the difficulty of the music for the part." He almost laughed at how her eyes widened.

"I told him I knew of someone who could handle it with ease."

"You recommended me?"

"Of course. You are the most talented singer I know."

"But my reputation…" she looked dejected now.

"I explained your situation, at least as much as I knew. He was aware of what happened in New York. As far as he's concerned, if you are as good as I said you are you would start with a clean slate in Chicago. Assuming you go and audition, that is."

The seed had been sown. She couldn't hide the hunger to perform again, even if it meant the grinding eight shows a week.

"Why did you do that, Jesse?" She looked touched, but he couldn't blame her for being somewhat suspicious.

"Because you belong on stage, Rachel. It's in your DNA. And I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try and help that happen again." There was another reason, and by the look on her face he knew she knew he hadn't been completely honest.

"And I love you."

There he had said it, even though he knew what she would say.

"Oh, _Jesse._" Tears again.

"Rachel, it's okay if you don't love me back."

She was staring at him now.

"I've always felt it was my karma to fall in love with you after treating you so badly, and for that love to be unrequited. It's what I deserved. And I've been trying to atone for it ever since. But that doesn't mean I attach any expectations of you regarding me. All I want is your forgiveness. Nothing more."

"You know I forgave you a long time ago."

He smiled gratefully. "That means the world to me. But will you let me help here? I have a two-bedroom apartment in Chicago. You're welcome to be strictly my room mate; I'd be honored. At the very least you can stay there until you find a place of your own. But you'd have to promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"You have to promise me you'll use this job as a way of rebuilding your reputation in the musical theatre world, by showing them you can be trusted. And when the time is right, try Broadway again." He took her hand. "You know it's where you belong. I'll come to New York as well. Maybe we'll rule that town someday."

She looked over the cornfields again. "I don't deserve this."

"No Rachel." Jesse waved his hand over the vista. "What you don't deserve is _this_." "And Finn doesn't deserve this either."

Her reflex was a flash of anger at him for mentioning Finn, and he cursed himself for going too far. She raised her hand as if to slap him, but dropped it almost immediately. Then came the sobs, sobs so deep they seemed to come from her very core. Rachel curled up on the picnic cloth, almost in a fetal position, her true grief taking over, chest heaving, breathing gathered into elemental moans, tears soaking her dress. He wondered if she had ever given herself permission to cry like this.

"I'm sorry, Finn. I'm sorry…I'm sorry..." she repeated, over and over.

He let her sob until she had nothing left, until she just lay there , exhausted but somehow calmer, breathing easier, eyes fixed on Finn's headstone, saying nothing. She was silent for a long time. The only sounds were insects, birds, and the wind. And when she finally turned her head to look at him, a spark of life was in those dark brown eyes.

"I'd like to come to Chicago, Jesse. I think I just might be ready."

Jesse smiled, even through the pain of knowing she didn't love him. He settled for the lifting of some of the weight of his guilt. And the possibility of at least perhaps being able to perform with her on stage.

"Then lets get started," he said.

**XXXxxxx **

Sydney Greene sighed. It had been a long day on the phone, talking to investors about his idea for a revival of _Mame_. He'd even skipped lunch, and was contemplating leaving for an early dinner when his office door opened. He looked up, expecting to see his secretary, Gladys. Instead, the last person he ever expected to see was standing in front of him.

"What do you want?" he growled, wondering how Rachel Berry ever got past Gladys, and what she was doing holding a pink bakery box. Her hair was different, a kind of Audrey Hepburn pixie cut, and it looked like she had lost a lot of weight, not that there was ever much of her to lose. She looked very chic, in tailored black pants and a cream silk jacket.

"I don't want anything," she said, and, without asking, sat down in a chair.

"Then why are you here?" He didn't understand. The only reason he could see for Rachel Berry to be in his office was to beg for a job. And that wasn't going to happen.

"Sydney," she said, "Relax. I'm not here to ask for another chance or any such thing. I'm just here to tell you something."

"Okay, but make it quick. I was about to leave."

"It won't take long." She laid the box in her lap. Then she looked him directly in the eyes. He didn't see the eager young starlet that he remembered. She looked older, sadder, wiser. Sydney knew what had happened to her in LA. He was curious now.

"First of all," Rachel said, "I'm here to apologize for what I did to you and the show. I'll regret doing that for the rest of my life, and not just because things fell apart in Los Angeles." She spoke calmly; he almost believed her. "You went out on a limb and gave me that chance, and I repaid you with a betrayal. For that, I am truly ashamed."

Sydney just nodded.

"Secondly, I wanted to thank you for the opportunity you gave me, even though I showed my gratitude by throwing it away."

He nodded again, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"Are you living in New York again? What are your plans?"

"Oh no. I'm living in Chicago now. I got the lead for a locally-produced musical there, called _Stand and Deliver_."

"They hired you for a musical?" He couldn't help let the surprise show in his voice. She smiled.

"Oh, they knew the risk they were taking. I made sure they knew. But they decided to give me a chance. And I don't plan on letting them down." She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out two tickets. "These are for you and Elaine on opening night next month, or they can be redeemed for any performance. You should come check it out." Then she winked. "It could be the next big Broadway hit."

"Are you asking me to trust you again?" he asked, incredulous.

"Nope." She stood up. "I'm not _asking_ you to trust me; I'm _telling _you that you can, for whatever that's worth." She placed the box on his desk and grabbed her purse.

"What's in the box?

A cheeky grin. "See ya, Sydney." And she was gone.

He sat for a moment, trying to figure out what just happened.

"Gladys!"

She was wiping something from her mouth. "Yes, Sydney?"

He paused and looked at the box. Clever girl. He opened it. Inside was a slice of cheesecake from Marty's. His favorite, only it had a little something extra: a drizzling of raspberry sauce.

The Rachel Berry touch.

"How was the cheesecake, Gladys?" he asked, with a slowly growing smile.

**A/N 2: The quoted passage is from **_**Wuthering Heights**_**, by Emily Bronte**.


End file.
